


this is really gonna mess her up

by arysa13



Series: prompts filled (bellarke) [23]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Cheating, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 06:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18867592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Bellamy has been married to Roma for seven years, but he can't stop thinking about Clarke, the student teacher taking his class.





	this is really gonna mess her up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wanheda_two_heda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanheda_two_heda/gifts).



> Listen to Mess Her Up by Amy Shark.

Clarke already has the class of fourth graders sitting quietly at their desks by the time the bell goes at the end of the day, packed up and ready to go. Bellamy can’t help but admire her aptitude for the profession. She’s the perfect amount of kind but firm with the students, and where other student teachers he’s had have let the kids walk all over them, or had to resort to screaming to get the ten-year-olds to listen, Clarke has them eating out of the palm of her hand. She has _him_ eating out of the palm of her hand. He finds himself just as mesmerised as the kids while she’s teaching. She’s a natural. It’s been the easiest three weeks of Bellamy’s career.

Unfortunately, Clarke’s teaching skills are not the only thing he admires about her. He’s barely paid attention to her actual lesson for the last hour, instead focusing on the way her form fitting sweater accentuates the swell of her breasts. He searches for a panty line through her tight skirt every time she bends over to help a student, and wonders whether not finding one means she’s wearing a thong or nothing at all.

He feels a little guilty for thinking about it at all, but he’s spent the better part of three weeks trying to ignore his attraction to her with little to no success. But he figures as long as Clarke doesn’t know, and Roma doesn’t know, he’s not hurting anyone. The ring on his left hand doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to _look_.

His class doesn’t even spare him a second glance as they chorus their goodbyes to Miss Griffin and stampede out of the classroom. It’s going to be a tough transition next week when Clarke has gone back to university.

Bellamy stands, the desk creaking under him as his weight shifts, and makes his way to the front of the classroom, where Clarke stands waiting for him. She glances at the notebook in his hand, grimacing.

“Okay, give it to me,” she says, bracing herself for his notes. Bellamy shows her the blank page. His notes for improvement have been steadily decreasing over the past three weeks, and he honestly has nothing else to teach her. Plus, the whole, fantasising about what she looks like naked instead of actually paying attention.

Clarke grins. “You’re just being nice.”

“You know that’s not true, Clarke. You’re already a better teacher than I’ve ever been or ever will be.”

Clarke ducks her head, flushing. It’s cute. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear that’s fallen out of her messy bun, and it immediately falls into her face again. Unthinking, Bellamy reaches out and brushes it back. Clarke meets his eyes, swallowing. Bellamy quickly withdraws, clearing his throat. “Should we go over the lesson plan for tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” Clarke says, flicking open her neatly organised display folder. It probably doesn’t need going over, she’s got this down pat by now, but it’s a necessary distraction.

He sits down at the desk and pulls Clarke’s lesson plan out, and Clarke leans over his shoulder. He can feel her warm breath against his neck, and the scent of her flowery perfume fills his nostrils. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, willing himself to concentrate on the page in front of him. He quickly scans over it, suddenly desperate to be away from her.

“Looks good,” he tells her, slipping the page back into its sleeve. Truthfully, he would have let her get away with the entire day being just one big party tomorrow, seeing as it’s her last day, but the closest she’s come is dedicating the whole afternoon to arts and crafts. Technically the art stuff is supposed to be left to the specialty art teacher, but Clarke loves it, and is good at it, and it seems like a good send off.

“Great,” Clarke says. Bellamy closes the folder and hands it to her as he stands up. “Do we have any meetings or anything this afternoon?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No, you can go if you like.”

“Oh. Um…” Clarke glances down, and she’s fiddling with the corner of the folder nervously. “I thought… never mind.”

“Clarke?” Bellamy says, tilting his head. She’s never been shy about asking questions, giving suggestions, or voicing her opinion before. Bellamy can’t quite figure out why she’s so tongue-tied all of a sudden.

“It’s just, yesterday you said you would give me a ride. But it’s fine if you can’t,” she adds hurriedly.

“Oh, shit, I completely forgot. I’m so sorry.” He’d only found out yesterday that Clarke has been taking the bus to school every day, and without thinking, had offered to drive her home. It’s not that he regrets that offer now, but he does wonder what being alone in a car with her for twenty minutes will do to both his sanity and his libido.

“It’s okay!” Clarke says. “I can take the bus.”

“No, no,” Bellamy says. “I can drive you. It’s fine. Just let me pack up and then we can go.”

Twenty minutes later, Clarke slides into his passenger seat, and he averts his eyes as her skirt rides up her thighs. It’s a modest skirt, by anyone’s standards, but Bellamy’s mind still finds its way to the gutter.

Clarke pulls the door closed and Bellamy starts the car.

“Looking forward to your placement ending?” Bellamy asks. School, a safe topic. Clarke being in his car is doing weird things to him. There’s something so intimate about being alone in a car with someone. Or perhaps it’s because he’s jerked off to the thought of her while sitting in this very seat, parked in his garage, while his wife is inside, none the wiser.

“No, not at all,” Clarke sighs. “These past three weeks have been so fun. I honestly can’t wait until I graduate and can finally have a class of my own.”

“I mean, my class likes you much better than they like me. Maybe you should just stay,” Bellamy smiles.

“If only. And by the way, those kids love you. They only like me because I’m a novelty.”

Bellamy glances at her. “You’re kidding right? You’re so good with them. You wouldn’t believe the number of teachers who are terrible with children.”

Clarke chuckles. “No, I think I would.” She shrugs. “I’ve just always liked kids. I can’t wait to be a mom. You know, once I’ve got a job and a house and someone to have kids with.”

“That does sound nice,” Bellamy muses.

“Well, you’ve got all three of those things, right?” Clarke laughs. “So what’s stopping you?”

Bellamy hesitates. He knows she’s joking, but her words strike a nerve. Clarke seems to notice this, and hurries to cover up her mistake.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” she says. “None of my business.”

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says. “Roma doesn’t want kids. I knew that when I married her, and I thought I was okay with it,” he shrugs. “I _am_ okay with it,” he corrects, though it’s a lie. But he shouldn’t be telling the twenty-one-year-old he has a crush on about his marital problems.

“Of course,” Clarke says quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put my foot in it.”

“It’s really okay,” Bellamy says, grinning to show her he’s not offended. But it’s probably best if they change the subject. “You want to put a CD on?”

“A CD?” Clarke says, teasing. “God, how old _are_ you Bellamy? I didn’t even know they still made CDs.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I know.”

“They’re in the glovebox.”

Clarke drops the glovebox open and pulls out the stack of CDs. She flips through them, reading the artists out loud, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Elton John? ABBA? Johnny Cash? Beyoncé, but it’s not even one of her new ones. Oh my god, the Twilight soundtrack.”

“That one’s my sister’s.”

“Sure it is. You have a weird taste in music.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you know any new music?”

“Sing something and I’ll tell you if I know it.”

“I can’t sing.”

“I bet you can,” Bellamy says, trying not to smile too much. He shouldn’t be flirting with her, probably. Is that over the line, or is he still toeing it? It’s harmless, right?

“Let’s just listen to ABBA.” She says it like it’s a hardship, but she sings along to every song.

“You can sing,” Bellamy accuses. Clarke just screws her nose up at him.

They pull up at the front of Clarke’s house, a rundown looking place she’s renting with a friend.

“When was the last time you mowed your lawn?” Bellamy asks, peering over the front fence through the windscreen.

“You’re not allowed to judge,” Clarke says. “Unless you’re going to come and mow it for me.”

“Nice try,” Bellamy grins.

Clarke shrugs. “Worth a shot,” she says. Her smile is cheeky, and Bellamy wants to kiss it off her face. She has the most infectious, beautiful smile he’s ever seen. And thoughts like that are very dangerous, and very stupid.  

“I should get going,” he hints.

“Right, sorry,” Clarke says, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks for driving me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She opens the car door.

“Oh, wait, I almost forgot,” Bellamy says. “A few of us are going out for drinks tomorrow after work if you’re interested. It’s your last day after all. Monty wanted me to ask you.”

“Yeah, okay, sounds good,” Clarke beams. Bellamy’s heart misses a beat. Clarke waves him goodbye and doesn’t look back as she walks to her front door and lets herself inside. Bellamy takes a deep breath and grips the steering wheel with shaking hands. The gold band around his finger glints back at him. He starts the car and drives home.

 

-

 

Bellamy knows he got married for all the wrong reasons. He got married because that’s what people do. Because he’d been with Roma for two years, and he didn’t want to break up with her, but he knew she was angling for a proposal and it would be over if he didn’t marry her soon.

He always knew she didn’t want kids, and at twenty-three that kind of thing didn’t matter to him. And now, seven years later, it does matter to him, but he doesn’t feel like there’s much he can do about it. Is he really going to divorce his wife just because he changed his mind? That’s not fair on her. And it’s not like he doesn’t _love_ Roma. At least, he thinks he does. He’s pretty sure he does.

He’s not exactly _happy_ in his marriage, but he’s not unhappy either, and that’s more than a lot of other married people can say, right? And he thinks Roma is happy. He hopes she’s happy, because one of them may as well be.

He’s just finishing breakfast when she comes downstairs, hair and make-up perfect. Bellamy hands her a cup of coffee.

“I’m going out for drinks after work,” Bellamy tells her. “Not sure what time I’ll be home.”

Roma pouts. “I was hoping we could stay in.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says. “I know it’s last minute but Monty organised it because it’s the student teacher’s last day. I should probably go, since it’s my class she’s been taking.”

Roma sighs. “Fine. But tomorrow you’re watching a trashy romcom with me to make up for it.”

Bellamy smiles. “Deal.” He gives her a peck on the cheek. “I’ve gotta go, babe. I’ll see you tonight if you’re still awake when I get home. Don’t wait up though.”

 

-

 

Bellamy has never wished for a school day to go slower. Every minute that ticks by brings him closer to saying goodbye to Clarke. He doesn’t want her to go, and it’s not just because he’ll have to actually start teaching his own class again. It’s obvious the kids don’t want her to go either.

After lunch, Clarke brings out the art supplies, pushes the tables together to form small groups, and gives the students free rein to make whatever they like. As soon as one student announces that they’re making a thank you card for Miss Griffin, the rest of class follows suit.

Bellamy sits at the back of the class, as per usual, until one of the girls, Amy, tells him he has to make one too. Bellamy is so not the artistic type, but he finds himself a seat amongst the students anyway, and starts making a card, taking suggestions from Amy and some of the other girls.

He senses Clarke standing behind him, looking over his shoulder as he glues a badly cut out flower to the front of his card.

“Nice work, Mr Blake,” she teases. Bellamy looks up at her, and she turns her attention to the girls surrounding him. “What do you think girls?”

“Mine’s better,” says Amy. “I tried to tell him how to draw a flower but he wouldn’t listen.”

Clarke laughs joyously, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and Bellamy’s stomach tightens. “I think it looks great,” she lies. She squeezes his shoulder, then drifts off to check on one of the other tables. Bellamy doesn’t stop thinking about that shoulder squeeze for the rest of the afternoon.

At the end of the day, the class hands Clarke their cards, and tell her how much they love her, and then they run off without a second thought. Bellamy wishes he could say goodbye to her so easily.

“You didn’t give me my card,” Clarke says, once all the students are gone.

“What makes you think it was for you?”

“It has my name on the front.”

Bellamy hands her the card, definitely worse than all the fourth graders efforts. It’s just a bit of yellow card folded in half with a red flower on the front and _Miss Griffin_ in block letters on the front.

Clarke keeps eye contact with him as she opens, then drops her eyes to read it out loud. “Clarke. Thank you for brightening up my classroom these past three weeks. You’re going to make a wonderful teacher, and my students are going to be all the better for having known you, even for such a short time. So am I. Love, Bellamy.”

Bellamy watches her as she reads it, notices her tearing up. He looks away as soon as she looks back up at him.

“I guess words are more your thing than art, huh?”

Bellamy shrugs. “You can use that in your portfolio if you want,” he jokes.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, way too serious for his liking. Thankfully, Monty chooses that moment to duck his head into the classroom.

“Did you ask her?” Monty asks.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “We’re coming.”

Clarke looks to Bellamy. “I have no way to get there.”

“I’ll drive you,” Monty offers, before Bellamy can. It’s somewhat of a relief.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees. She gathers her things from the desk and heads for the door.

“We’ll see you there?” Monty says.

“Yeah,” Bellamy nods. “See you there.”

 

-

 

When Bellamy gets to the bar, Monty has claimed a booth, and there are a few other teachers there already, including Clarke. She scoots out of her seat as he approaches the table. She’s got her hair out now, and an extra button on her shirt undone. Not that Bellamy is paying attention.

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want me to get you something?”

“Sure, a beer would be great. I’ll get the next round.”

Clarke skips off towards the bar, and Bellamy slides into the booth beside Monty. He gives a nod across the table to Raven, Harper and Diyoza.

“I think Clarke has a crush on you,” Monty says.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What? Hot, older guy, who’s mentoring her and is good with kids? As if she wouldn’t have a crush on you.”

“What are you trying to do? Set us up? I’m married, remember?” Bellamy snorts.

“No, I’m _warning_ you,” Monty says. Bellamy frowns. “Don’t lead her on.”

“She knows I’m married.”

Monty gives a nonchalant shrug. “Okay. Just be careful.”

Monty is drawn into Raven and Diyoza’s debate about whether or not technology in the classroom is getting out of hand, and Clarke returns from the bar with a beer and some kind of bright yellow cocktail. Bellamy eyes it warily as Clarke sets both drinks down on the table and shuffles into the booth next to him.

“What is that?” he asks, nodding to her drink as he picks up his own.

“Vodka, mostly,” Clarke grins. “You want to try it?” She offers it to him, and he takes it from her, dubiously taking a sip. He screws up his face at the overpowering sweetness.

“Doesn’t taste like alcohol,” he says, handing it back to Clarke.

“That’s the point,” she says.

Maya and Jasper show up then, and Clarke scoots even closer to him to give them room to sit. Her thigh is pressed against his under the table, and somehow his arm ends up around her. Not on purpose. It’s just resting there on the back of the seat, and she just happens to be sitting there, leaning back against it. Bellamy takes a sip of his beer and pretends he doesn’t notice.

Over the course of the few hours they’re at the bar, Bellamy only has a few drinks. He has to drive home after this after all. Plus, the way Clarke is kind of tucked in against his side is making him feel things he doesn’t want to feel, and drinking more is only going to make him flirtier and more likely to do the exact opposite of what Monty said, and lead her on.

Clarke must be tipsy at least, because she’s laughing loudly and talking faster than normal. She seems to have no inhibitions about touching him constantly, or being practically in his lap. He feels like he’s holding his breath the whole night. His heart stops every time she touches him. Every nerve in his body screams for him to touch her back, to press his lips against her neck, to bury his hand between her legs. His head pounds.

More people arrive, and Clarke doesn’t hesitate to somehow move closer to him. She hooks her leg over his, and before he can stop himself, he pulls her all the way into his lap. He catches Monty’s disapproving look but ignores him. Clarke settles back against Bellamy’s chest, clearly comfortable. Her ass presses against his crotch, and his semi hard on grows to full size. If she notices she doesn’t react.

Bellamy stops following the conversation entirely, not that he’d been keeping up with it that well before. But now he zones out, imagining pulling Clarke’s skirt up and fingering her right here under the table. He imagines secretly meeting her in a bathroom stall and fucking her up against the door. She would look so good with that freshly fucked look. He’d fill her with his come, get her pregnant with his baby.

It’s that thought that snaps him out of it. He swallows guiltily, and downs the dregs of his beer.

“I should get going,” he announces to no one in particular.

“Oh, I was going to ask you earlier,” Clarke says. “Would you be able to give me a lift home?”

He should say no, probably. It’s not like he thinks she’s going to throw herself at him, but he hasn’t exactly done the best job tonight of not leading her on. _She knows you’re married_ , he reminds himself. _She’s not expecting anything to happen._

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

They make everyone get up so they can leave, and the group of teachers chorus their goodbyes as Bellamy ushers Clarke out of the bar, his hand on the small of her back.

Neither of them speaks on the way to Bellamy’s car, and they’re both silent even as Bellamy pulls out onto the road.

“You have a good time?” Bellamy asks. He’s afraid the pounding of his heart is too loud in the silence of the car.

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “It’s bittersweet though. I’ll probably never see most of them again.”

“Well, you know where we are,” Bellamy says. “You can always come and visit.”

Clarke smiles. “Maybe I will,” she says, but Bellamy can hear it in her voice that she won’t.

Bellamy pulls up out the front of her house. He looks over at her, and she looks so fucking sad. Something tugs at his heart. He’s not ready to say goodbye to her just yet.

“I should walk you to your door,” he says, his voice coming out in a whisper. “Make sure you get in okay.”

“Good idea,” Clarke agrees.

They walk up the front path in silence, and Bellamy can feel the tension between them. She wants him to kiss her. And he wants to kiss her so badly. They reach the door, and Clarke unlocks it, then turns to face him.

“I just want to say,” she says, swallowing. “Thank you for everything. You’ve taught me so much and I couldn’t have hoped for a better mentor.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says. “I meant what I said before. You can drop by the school any time. And if you ever need help or advice, you can always call me.”

Clarke nods. She steps forward and presses her soft lips against his cheek. Bellamy feels like he might combust. She lingers there longer than would be seen as socially acceptable, and as she pulls away, Bellamy’s heart lurches, and he’s no longer in control of his own actions. Before she can step back, he captures her lips with his, his hand snaking around her waist to pull her closer.

She gasps, and Bellamy takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, as if it has any right to be there. Kissing her is intoxicating, far more so than the two beers he’d had earlier, and his head spins. Her body moulds to his, and yet he’s still desperate to be closer to her.

The kiss only lasts seconds before Bellamy returns to his senses, and pulls away from her like he’s been shocked by an electric wire.

“Shit,” he says, guilt already pooling in his stomach. “Shit. Shit.”

“Sorry,” Clarke whispers.

Bellamy looks at her, shaking his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who kissed you.”

“But I wanted you to.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I was all over you at the bar.”

“I could’ve stopped you.”

Clarke bites her lip. “What if I want you to kiss me again?”

He wants to. He yearns for her. “I’m married, Clarke,” he says hoarsely. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

He’s not sure why it doesn’t bother him. He knows it’s wrong to want her. He knows it’s wrong to act on it. But at this moment, he can’t bring himself to care. Or perhaps it’s because he knows it’s wrong that makes it all the more appealing.

“I’d rather have you this way than not at all.”

That’s all it takes for Bellamy to press her up against the door, his mouth on hers again. Clarke fumbles with the door knob, and then the door swings open, and they stumble inside.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “I want you so much. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you these past three weeks.”

“Me too,” Clarke says, breathless.

“Where’s your room?”

Clarke takes his hand and leads him down the hall until they reach her room. Bellamy’s heart thunders in his chest. Is he really doing this?

Clarke flicks the light on, and Bellamy tugs on her hand to spin her around to face him. If he wastes any time, if he stops to think, he might change his mind. He doesn’t want to change his mind.

Lips on hers, Bellamy urges her towards her bed. Every kiss, every movement, is frantic, urgent, like they’re both afraid it could be over any moment. Like someone might catch them in the act and ruin it all.

Bellamy’s hands drop to the buttons on Clarke’s shirt, his fingers too big and clumsy to undo them with any finesse, but with her help he gets them undone, and then she’s shrugging her shirt off, and then her bra, and Bellamy is gifted the sight of her tits, more magnificent than he’d even fantasised about.

“God,” Bellamy groans. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about these.”

“Really?”

“Fuck yes, Clarke,” Bellamy says. He palms her breasts, watching as her nipples harden. “You like having your nipples played with?”

“Yes,” Clarke nods. “But—”

“But?” Bellamy tilts his head.

“I just want you to fuck me. Please. Before my roommate gets home and you realise what a huge mistake you’re making and that you don’t want me after all.”

“I’m way too far gone for that, Clarke,” Bellamy says, hoarsely. Clarke surges up to kiss him, and Bellamy’s hands slide around to her ass, gripping her through her skirt. She spreads her legs as she lets him lift her slightly, then lay her down on the bed, where he imagines she’s fingered herself to the thought of him more than once. He hikes her skirt up her thighs and is greeted with a tantalising view of her swollen, wet, pussy. His cock throbs painfully at the sight.

“No panties, Clarke?” he growls.

“I stopped wearing panties after the first week,” she says. “Just in case.”

“You really wanted me, huh? Didn’t care about the ring on my finger?”

Clarke shakes her head. “You don’t love her. She can’t give you what you want.”

“And you can?”

“Uh huh.”

“How do you know what I want?”

“I see you watching me,” Clarke says huskily. “You want these,” she squeezes her tits. She runs her hands down her stomach, then cups her pussy. “You want this.” She rolls over onto her stomach and wiggles her ass for him, looking over her shoulder cheekily. “You want this.”

“You see right through me, don’t you?”

She rolls back over and sits up. “Do you think about me while you’re fucking your wife?”

“All the time. Every time. I wish it was you every time.”

Clarke reaches up, fists her hands in his shirt and tugs him down towards her. “So what are you waiting for?” she whispers. “Now’s your chance. Fuck me.”

Bellamy hurriedly rids himself of his shirt, and then the rest of his clothes, until he’s standing naked before her. Clarke eyes his cock hungrily, lip caught between her teeth.

“How do you want it, baby?” Bellamy asks. He puts a knee between her legs on the bed, and she lies back down, pulling her skirt up higher so it’s bunched around her waist. Bellamy leans over her, running his hands up her arms, lifting them above her head, grasping her wrists tightly to keep them there. Her loves the way it makes her tits look, straining towards him like they belong to him.

“I want it hard,” she says. “Please.”  

Bellamy lowers his mouth to hers, drawing a long kiss out of her, positioning his cock at her entrance at the same time. He can feel her slickness against his cock, letting him know she’s more than ready for him. He enters her slowly, and she squirms beneath him. He keeps her hands locked above her head, so she has no choice but to let him take control, to take his time and do as he pleases, though she’s clearly desperate to pull him closer. She cants her hips towards him, trying to get him deeper inside her.

Bellamy groans, the feeling of her tight cunt clenching around his cock almost too much to handle. He thrusts into her, abruptly, his whole cock filling her up. If she wants it hard, she’s going to get it hard.

“Oh my god,” Clarke moans. “This is too good to be true,” she murmurs, more like she’s talking to herself than to him. Bellamy isn’t sure if she’s talking about his cock or just the situation in general, but either way he finds himself agreeing. This can’t be real. It feels too good.

She isn’t quiet while he fucks her, and every sound she makes thrills him. Most of it is unintelligible, but he’s not exactly thinking straight himself. All he can do is focus on keeping it together long enough to make her come. For a moment he thinks he won’t make it, but just as he’s about to lose it, she cries out, arching towards him, her cunt clenching around him like a vice, drawing his own orgasm from him as she comes. He comes inside her, like he’s imagined doing time after time, and then he collapses on top of her, spent.

She presses her thumb to his hip, and he rolls off her, but she goes with him, lying on top of him.

“Good as you imagined?” Bellamy asks her.

“Better. What about you?”

“Much better.”

“You don’t regret it?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“Maybe.”

Bellamy rubs his hand over his face. He never thought he’d be a cheater. But here he is, lying naked in bed with a woman who isn’t his wife. And all he can think about is how good it felt, and how much he wants to do it again.

“Are you going to fuck me and leave? Or will you stay a while?”

“I can stay,” Bellamy murmurs. He doesn’t tell her that he never wants to leave her. It doesn’t matter if it’s true, it’s a promise he can never keep. “But this can’t happen again.” He has a wife, and he knows whatever this is with Clarke has to stay here in this moment, in this room. He can’t screw up what he has with Roma for what is probably some passing infatuation with a girl who won’t remember his name in a year.

“I know,” Clarke says, and Bellamy tries to ignore the sadness in her voice. She’ll get over it. She’s twenty-one, she’s resilient. She’ll fuck someone else to get him out of her system, and she’ll move on. And Bellamy will go back to Roma, and let this night with Clarke fuel his fantasies, to keep his sex life with Roma going for a few more months at least. It’s the best he can hope for.


End file.
